


Galileo Rolls a C Seven

by fresne



Series: Voyages of the Bakerstreet [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Other, Parents are the crazy making, Siblings too - Freeform, Sometimes helpful though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 21:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15648861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: While returning from a conference on Andor, a routine survey of the Murasaki 312 quasar strands Sherlock and several members of his crew on a planet full of hostile native. They may be faced with a difficult choice to escape.While in the Gamma quadrant, Commodore Lestrade attempts to establish a Federation presence with limited resources, and a lot of ingenuity.





	1. Lucy Hebron POV

Lucy was terrified.

She'd left her baby behind with Freddy to come here.

She had no idea why she'd thought she could do this.

It was one thing to argue with someone at Aug Soc or to present to a small group on the Bakerstreet, but this was the Andorian Biological Symposium. This was a major scientific conference that would be reported on across the Federation.

What was she doing there? She was a botanist. She studied plants.

She knew all about plants. The greater Xenobian fern produced three times as much oxygen as a lesser Xenobian fern. Cavandian brambles were biologically successful, because they produced their seeds through their roots.

Botanist. Not an exo biologist.

She had a suddenly brilliant plan. "You do it," she told Sherlock. "It's as much your research as mine."

He gave her the sort of look that made her wonder how exactly she'd survived this much time alone with him.

Evil.

Cold.

Calculating.

Then he pulled on one of those utterly fake smiles that made it seem as if he'd never even seen a real person smile for the first few years of his life and said. "You'll do fine."

She didn't feel like she was going to do fine. She was going to do terribly.

John, who'd come along for moral support and no one wanted to be on a shuttle with Sherlock without him said, "It's not about picking perfect words. You've got a powerful story here. A way to keep a species alive. Tell that story."

"So, even if it's bad, it'll be fine," clarified Lucy.

"Yeah, that. Pretty much that," was the firm response from John. Not exactly thrilling encouragement, but better than nothing.

The organizer of the conference said from the stage, "And now presenting some exciting work from the USS Bakerstreet, Lieutenant Lucy Hebron and Commander Sherlock Holmes." They walked on stage and began their presentation. She'd have thought that the large audience would be intimidating, but she couldn't actually see them with the bright lights shining in her face and the audience in darkness.

After she introduced the key concepts, she said, "Let's dim the stage lights a bit and bring out the real stars of the moment." The lights dimmed and there was a loud rustling mummer as Bihr, Khel, Ishros, and Shroleb came on stage. Each of them carrying a sleeping child. Four children for a bonded quartet.

There were actual gasps from the primarily Andorra audience.

When they were seated and comfortable, she gave her presentation on the discovery of the Ceti Sexus Pollinus. The effects of Berthold radiation on the development of the Ceti Sexus Pollinus. The effects of both on the viability of fertilization and successful cell division of Andorians zygotes into blastocysts and fetuses. All of it.

Interspersed by Thil waking and needing a feeding, which woke his twin, Shor, which woke newborn, Shrilaas.

Keraass, capable of sleeping through a meteor storm, slept on.

Ishros leaned into his microphone and said, "As you can see, there are some challenges to a large family. But at least there are four of us and four of them."

The audience erupted into laughter, which turned into spontaneous applause.

When it died down, Sherlock took over his portion of the preso.

He called the Andorians idiots. Morons. Responsible for their own dire fate and parsed the various genomic issues that had been causing the reproductive problems in the first place. He described several in vitro techniques, still using the Ceti Sexus Pollinus, to ensure successful fertilization and cell replication. Of course, being Sherlock, there was the purely theoretical rant-o-thon where he speculated that future advancements would enable gestation outside of in vivo.

They opened the presentation up to questions from the audience.

No one challenged Sherlock to an honor duel. No one called Lucy an idiot. There were good question after question. Many of them were directed to Bihr and her bondmates. Surprisingly, no one asked any questions about the ethics of experimenting on a sentient species or such a small sample size. Then again, it was pretty much an open secret that the Andorians were on the cliff edge of an extinction event if they couldn't get their reproductive rates up within the next generation.

As soon as the presentation was over, Lucy was besieged by Andorians. People with doctorates. The administrators of gestation clinics. There was an invitation to meet the Chancellor.

The Chancellor.

Of one of the founding planets.

Her, Lucy Hebron. The girl in a bubble. The girl with the yellow mask. The girl who had been hidden away by her mother.

Before she could change her mind, she sent her grandmother a message telling her about Eva and sending a dozen pictures. She didn't tell Starfleet, because one presentation didn't mean she could bend the rules.


	2. John POV

John was feeling a tad guilty. A skooch. That tiny little drop of guilty.

He was attending a symposium on Andor when he ought to be on the Bakerstreet.

He ought to be spending his leave on Auberj helping Doctor Moreau with the waves of the sick and dying. No one was making any headway on a cure, and John didn't see how the level of resources being sent was enough.

He ought to be heading off to a lecture on theories around non-carbon based life, or there has been a really interesting panel on the ethics of genetic reconditioning, which Lucy might have frothed over if she hadn't been floating off on a wave of happy Andorians.

Sherlock looked blankly at yet another Andorian coming over to speak to him after Lucy and his presentation. Back at the Academy, the reaction to his lectures had been furious note taking, shell shock, and an appeal to John for help understanding just what Sherlock had said. He blinked for several more moments at the smiling Andorian.

Being Sherlock, he insulted the man, which had John chuckling and saying, "Bit not good."

Mycroft, over to John's left, said "I'm sure that my brother didn't mean to impugn the probability of your reproductive success."

Sherlock glared at his brother, while the Andorian retreated out of the line of fire. "There's an all you can eat buffet on the third floor. I'm surprised you're not at it."

"And miss your moment of triumph." Mycroft smiled, and it was all teeth and none for the eyes. "Given the importance of your mission in the Gamma quadrant, with the Federation expending resources there, I'm merely surprised that they gave you leave to give your presentation in person."

John said, "I'm surprised your latest client let you out of your hole in the ground." He moved to stand next to Sherlock.

"Oh," Mycroft's eyes flicked over him, putting another layer of oil into his smile, "You'd be surprised. I answer to a higher authority."

Standing next to Sherlock, John felt him stiffen. He followed his gaze over Mycroft's shoulder. Usual mix of attendees. Mostly Andorians. Some Vulcans. Some Humans. Then he spotted them. Two of the most attractive Augmented Humans he'd ever seen in their mid-sixties. Both alphas. The Sikh looking alpha was showing off his abs on top of his abs with an open vest and no shirt beneath, while the whipcord Asiatic looking alpha was covered head to toe in tight leather. Phenotypically, they looked nothing like Sherlock or Mycroft, but John took a shot in the dark. "Is your father here?"

"And what precisely makes you say that?" asked Mycroft.

John wasn't about to say because the alphas across the way were utterly stunning and something in one of their scents, they were too far away for him to decide which, made him think of Sherlock, so he fell back on being a sibling. "I assumed he hasn't punched you because your parents are here."

Mycroft's smile was still smug enough to want to be removed with a fist. "Certainly, not."

"Don't be ridiculous, John," said Sherlock. "Neither of them could possibly be related to Mycroft."

Mycroft added, "But, brother mine, your response excludes yourself."

Sherlock glared at Mycroft and John couldn't have felt better about being there when he said, "I've found my true family on the Bakerstreet."

John was exactly where he ought to be. At Sherlock's side.

He could have done without hearing, Mycroft say to their backs, "Until your five year mission ends," but he gave Sherlock a shoulder bump to make up for it.


	3. Ji-Yoo Cho POV

She lowered her holo recorder. Ji-Yoo had been in some pretty cobbled together stations. Generally some spot long side traveled space. Some fella parked a last legs freighter with an industrial replicator and solar panels. Threw together a station for rock hoppers and merchants who didn't want to deal with the bureaucratic hassle at a Starfleet built station.

Chat was that all Starfleet stations looked the same. Same set of replicator pieces. Varied based on the purpose.

But this… this was some cobbled shit. Kit pieces missing. Replaced with jury rigged bits. Folk liked to complain about the ugly of DS9, which fair. That was some high quality ugly. But solid ugly. Nothing that was going to break apart and send a fella spinning out in the black where a fella didn't wanna spin. Least not without getting suited.

Recording this for her collection be just about treason. Ji-Yoo wasn't an engineer or some fancy designer like Khel, but she knew stations. She was in security. She could look at a panel all floppy wire like that and know about a dozen ways to take out the station shields.

Sighed. Cuz she was self-cancelling her leave and making a report to Donovan, who looked at the panel. "What the fuck am I looking at?"

Ji-Yoo explained. She explained to the po-faced head of engineering on the station. She explained and she explained, and got a sort of weary ass explanation. "That were several kits missing from the construction sets we were sent. We've made do where we could."

Ji-Yoo snorted, because this weren't just no missing kits. This was key pieces of a can they were walking around in. Talk. Talk. Talk. Didn't seem to get the base pair problem. Finally, Ji-Yoo figured the simplest way to demo was to pull the red wire. Maybe not the best movement. Ended up in front of Commodore Lestrade explaining that the relay station was for shit.

"I put it back, sir," said Ji-Yoo.

Lestrade rubbed his eyes and looked all kinds of tired. "Crewman Cho, that's not the proper way to escalate an issue."

Donovan said, "We've been fucking escalating all day. Sir."

"Fine. I am now aware of the station issues and will forward a request for the missing parts. Don't pull any more wires. Dismissed."

Ji-Yoo couldn't help but notice, because she knew the fella who ran the station relay, and she knew the fella back at DS9 that ran that relay too, and Bakerstreet was the one stuck running the supply runs for the last few solid months. Request went out, but the Brass sent back that they'd have to make do.

Had to make her wonder just what was the point of going to the Gamma quadrant if they were going to go half assed. Course, she also knew from her fellow station hoppers cross Federation that Starfleet was still recruiting for crazy. Still working to fill the big old hole the Borg had put in the fleet, while sailing ships round like nothing was wrong.

Scuttlebutt was that Commodore Lestrade had been pulled out of retirement to run the little century fleet in the Gamma quadrant. Gave up living in the South of Spain or France for this.

His sad didn't fix the wires though.

She held the light while Tregennis soldered a new juncture to put some controls over at least that set of wiring.


	4. Sherlock POV

Sherlock waited by the balcony overlooking the conference center and counted down from the moment John left to attend a panel on micromorphic biological organisms.

At ten, his first father approached. "You look well." First Father always had taken care to visit with greater frequency, and thus the enumeration.

Still, as First Father had always said, attack was the best defense. "Are you referring to my appearance since I liberated myself the place where you'd imprisoned me? Or are you referring to my appearance in comparison to the childhood coma that you neglected to tell me about or,"

"I would hardly call a palace with every comfort a prison. I was raised in a , raised by my inferiors to be canon fodder." Sherlock opened his mouth before his First Father could lecture him on the difficulties of his own escape from imprisonment and the necessary sacrifices he'd made on his rise to power, but First Father held up his hand to stop him. "But I digress. I merely wished to congratulate you in your moment of triumph."

"You don't care about the Andorians."

"I care that they are a founding race, and that yours is one of the faces associated with their salvation. Well done finding an omega from one of the larger groups of Augmented as your partner for the presentation. Excellent optics for our people."

Sherlock turned to face his first father. "Lieutenant Hebron made the initial observation and has done the majority with the work."

"I'm sure," was the smooth reply with a warm smile. "She is of one of us."

"Don't you mean an Augment Inferior?" Sherlock wanted to explode. He wanted to escape, but he was the one who'd sent John off knowing that eventually, one his parents would approach him, and he wanted to keep John as far from his parents as possible.

"That's more Meiying's term." In the last decade, his first father's long hair had lost the traces of black that had flecked it when Sherlock was a child. Released from his turban, silver waves of hair moved as First Father tilted his head. "Her focus is on what divides us, while I am interested in the alliances that may make us stronger."

He wanted something. Something that Sherlock no doubt didn't want to give. "Euros, was she someone that divided us or bound us together?"

His first father sighed. "She was a point of contention, which was why Meiying wanted no part of her creation and the poor compromise after you accident. But," his first father smiled, "I am far more interested in the future. You've spent considerable time in the company of Doctor Watson."

The desire to explode ratchetted up. "We're not involved." Sherlock knew that he must be betraying the truth through multiple indicators. Heartrate. Pupil dilation. But he would rather lie than give his parent's access to John. Than let them know how correct they'd been about his failings if he left the prison where they'd kept him.

"Of course, son. But he does appear to be an excellent candidate for you. Reasonably intelligent. A high percentage of augmentation. Both his parents are Augments, and on his mother's side a least, he's related to any number of superior individuals."

Sherlock was not going to look to see if his mother was listening. "Distantly. There are far more Betas in his ancestry than Augments." His father's expression was mild. It acted as it always had, a goad. "If you want your genetics to continue, you can engineer a new child. I want no part of your goals."

"I have never pressured you regarding reproduction," said First Father mildly.

"No, you let Mummy do it for you." Sherlock paused. His first father continued to smile. His heart rate was constant. There were no scent or other shift in body language indicators. "No. You aren't interested. There's something you're not telling me. What is it?"

His first father laughed. "A wise parent allows their children to reach understanding on their own." He left Sherlock there to retreat to his mind palace to analyze what it was he might have missed.


	5. Ishros POV

Bihr said, "There is no need to speak to the Commander."

"Don't you want us to stay on the Bakerstreet? To be near your children?" asked Khel, feeding little Thil, post-partum skating panic into her voice.

"No, of course, that's not it," said Bihr miserably. "Of course, I want…, but we were given dispensation for a child and now we have four. We've been fortunate to be… I… you don't need me."

There would have been a time that Ishros had thought that this type of statement meant that Bihr did not desire them to be near. A time after that, he'd been weary of reassuring her.

Having his children reach for him and his bondmates, considering what it would do to them were they to lose any of them, brought fresh understanding. The wounds of childhood lingered long past the passage into adult years.

He discussed with the others. Ishros would approach Commander Holmes alone without Bihr.

On the last day of the conference, Ishros summoned his courage to the pinning point. From afar the Commander was… a snow storm upon the plains. A whirlwind. A force of nature. Ishros preferred quiet contemplation to talking with him.

Also, John had spent most days in panels at the conference, and Commander Holmes without John was the surging tide without a sea wall. He was a torrential downpour without the shelter of a roof. He was more than a little manic without the other half of his soul to anchor him.

More than that, this was not an easy conversation. He had not intended to fall in love with the elegance of the continual journey. The journey of stars. The home that was the Bakerstreet. The others felt the same with Bihr ever struggling at the idea she was a desired part of a family.

He said, "Commander, I would like to thank you for the honor of traveling on the Bakerstreet." He could not stop the twitching of his left antennae.

"Yes, yes." Holmes appeared to be almost three times as tall suddenly. Also, his eyes were seeing through Ishros. Into his soul.

He forged on. "If not for our time there, we would not be on the cusp of the salvation of the Andorian race."

Holmes rolled his eyes and groaned. "Yes, do you have a point?"

"I… we…," so much for the facility for words that had won second place at the All Andor Junior Poetry competition, "We wanted to ask if would be possible to stay aboard the Bakerstreet."

Holmes appeared to withdraw mentally into some space or time where Ishros could not follow. Then abruptly said, "Why are you asking? There is no reason to leave."

"Starfleet only gave us dispensation to travel on the Bakerstreet so that we could have children." Ishros spread hands that had handled diapers and baby balm and formula, which Ishros knew Holmes could read on his body as simply as reading words upon a screen. "We have done that."

Holmes batted away this concern as if it were a tiny and insignificant juba fly. "We have a refugee from the twenty-first century in charge of childcare. And Eva is not entirely regulation either." He glared at Ishros, glancing at his time piece. "You are welcome to return."

"Thank you," said Ishros, who had been by no means certain of success. Relieved. Hopeful. They had packed their belongings, preparing to return to a world where they no longer had homes of their own. Careers they had left behind. While forging new paths on the Bakerstreet.

Holmes looked to his left as if preparing to complain to John, and abruptly walked away.

Ishros went to bring word to Bihr and the others. She fussed that he had bothered the Commander after all, but there was a softening to her scent that indicated her relief. From thence they went to their assorted parents. If they were not to stay, then they must make plans for how to visit so the grandparents could see their precious grandchildren.

But then, with the Bakerstreet tethered to DS9, it would be simplicity to stay for a few weeks.

It was determined that Khel and Ishros would remain with the children, and that Kehl's parents would come with them on a normal transport in a few weeks. Bihr would return to do her duties on the shuttle, and Shroleb would return with her so that she would not decide in their absence that they were not returning to the Bakerstreet. That they would be better off without her.

They would all return to their home among the stars.

Ishros began to compose the poem of that journey.


	6. Sherlock POV

Sherlock examined points of possible interest to his parents. His presentation was insufficient.

One, getting Sherlock to return home and support their overall endeavors. Unlikely given what it had taken to leave the last time. Two, some form of passing on genetics, which given John had... didn't want… was not…it was... their genetics did not need to be passed on. Three, there interest could be one of the individuals who had accompanied him on the shuttle. He discarded the Andorians as incidental. Lucy and Yao were more likely, as Augments.

Lucy had been reproductively successful, which might be of interest to Mummy. That her percentage of augmentation was relatively low meant Second Father, who had yet to approach him despite lurking at the periphery of view, would be uninterested in her genetically speaking. As she liked to comment, "Cats and dogs could reproduce, that didn't make them our equals."

As to Yao, as he'd observed previously, Yao had had phenotypic modification done to her face, which was at a variance with her lack of vanity. However, her records did indicate that she had been a shuttlepod accident five years previously, which had caused her to leave the service, returning to active duty only after the Borg invasion. Her level of augmentation was extremely high.

However, he returned to the second option. Given Sherlock's state when Mummy had kidnapped him prior to the Borg invasions, John was the most likely factor. Since he could not follow each of the possibilites, he opted to maintain surveillance on the most likely target of interest.

He arranged for an error that gave away John's room at their accommodations. Since this was an extremely well attended conference at a resort on Andor's southern continent, there were no other rooms available.

It was perhaps indulgence – _completely_ – that Sherlock had only one bed in his own accommodation, but as he assured John. "I hardly expect to sleep in it, and it's certainly large enough to share if it becomes necessary."

John looked at him dubiously and muttered something about punishment for past deeds, but joined Sherlock in his room. He slept in his bed; Sherlock charted his REM patterns. John was very efficient at sleeping, falling into light REM sleep almost immediately, which deepened within fifteen minutes. Sherlock allowed himself to sleep next to John at three am. However, while he fell asleep on the other side of the bed on pillows propped up to allow for his superior night vision to watch John, he woke to the sound of John's faint moan. He found himself with his left leg slid between John's legs and his left arm wrapped around his chest. He was flexing his hips back and forth, causing his fully aroused member – trapped in his pants and sleep wear – to rub against John's posterior.

Sherlock very much wanted to press his lips to the back of John's neck. So much so that he did. Pressed a kiss and lay there breathing. John moaned again. He had to be very close to consciousness. There was a great deal to lose, and little to gain from the current situation.

Still rolling away took a great deal of self-control.

Sherlock's reward was that John showered in Sherlock's bathroom – thirty minutes with twenty minutes spent masturbating using scentless conditioner. Sherlock did somewhat – completely – take advantage of the opportunity to dress in front of John. His back turned, but with a carefully positioned reflective surface, so he could enjoy John's enjoyment of watching him. Hopefully, it would inspire a new scenario.

Other than that, it was simply a matter of accompanying John at all times, necessary in any case to prevent him from indulging in one of the affairs that he was given to understand were common at this type of event.

While his parents generally avoided each other's company, where two were, all three must be. But neither Mummy nor Second Father ever approached.

That Mycroft was present argued that Mummy could be in attendance, although under the circumstances, they might wish to conceal their appearance if only to avoid being confused with Sherlock. There were no Breen attending that were over three meters in height.

On the plus side, the conference was four nights long, and the pattern of the first night repeated each night, and each were stored in his memory palace for later perusal.


	7. Greg Lestrade

He'd been ready for retirement. Thirty-eight years was plenty of time to do anything. He'd had the drive to make captain. The connections to make commodore. But when faced with the political shite associated with either making admiral or being discharged to make way for hungrier officers, he'd been ready. Place close to the French Alps setup the way he wanted it during his last tour at Starfleet Command. Fascinating archeologist neighbor with family winery. Now Jean-Luc was checking his house once a month, and Greg was in another quadrant.

At least Greg was able to hand off day to day management of the Auberj base to Drebber, who was down one ship and had experience running a base, which given the poor number of resources they'd been given was stretching things.

Base was stretching things.

The lights dimmed. "And there they go again," said Drebber.

In the last few hours, Lestrade had already noticed the brownouts.

Lestrade had given up retirement for this. "This sort of base is set up to run with two techs and an ensign."

It was as if he'd pushed the word vomit button on Drebber. "Fucking new designs. Sector One Admiral's pet project. Fucking innovation. Reinvent the fucking wheel for tapping into geothermal power. Three separate design teams and they can't find their own fucking dicks. They came in fucked it all up and left. While all the chief medical officer can do is tell me he needs more doctors, and for what? All the Auberj are doing are dying. Fucking infants. And I'm supposed to run a fucking base like this when I should be assigned starship duty." Drebber gave Greg a bristle browed glare. "We need captains on starships."

"I'm sure Starfleet has taken that under advisement," which was about as far as Lestrade was willing to coddle Drebber's poor bruised dick given he'd over committed his command and gotten it destroyed. However, he was right about the power. "I'll see about getting you a standard power unit."

Drebber snorted. "Good fucking luck."

Which said it all about military chain of command out in the Gamma quadrant. At least when Holmes was arrogant, he backed it up with results.

Greg decided to take a stroll through the base before he beamed up. Greg had travelled a good bit even before he'd gotten into Starfleet. His dad forever deciding that the latest colony world was getting too crowded. He'd seen a lot of bases. There was a rhythm to a well-run base. This didn't have it.

It was less of a base and a lot of long low buildings dropped down in an empty field outside of the largest remaining city. The sort of thing that could be produced fast and dropped in on a planet. Everyone on base was walking around too quickly with their heads down. The two off duty personnel by the mess hall were too far away for him to hear what they were saying, but he could hear the jagged notes of what he'd always called the crazy laugh. The kind of laughter that came when people were pushed to their limits.

It could just be that they were stationed far away from home. That they'd been on the Belisarius when it blew. That there wasn't a counsellor assigned to the base on a planet of the dying.

He stopped in at the main hospital to see how the work finding a cure for these poor bastards was going. The chief medical officer, Doctor Moreau, was rushing from patient to patient. First thing Moreau said was, "You've got to do something about Drebber."

"What's this, Commander?" asked Greg noncommittally.

Moreau pulled back a bit and rubbed his face. "Sorry, sir, I've just been running off my feet, and he's turning away the orphans."

Which was more than a bit out of orbit. "What orphans?"

"I've got patients coming here for treatment. Pregnant women. Parents. They heard we took in one patient's infant, and they're coming in droves to ensure their children survive. Drebber's turning them away from the hospital. That's not why we're here. We're here to help these people."

Since the mission as explained to Greg back on Earth was part humanitarian mission, part establish the kind of power generation and defensive capability possible on a planetary surface.

"Setup an ancillary hospital outside the perimeter and have the locals run it," said a voice off to his left. Greg turned and recognized Commander Donovan. She of the relay station power outage. Or at least in charge of the crew person responsible.

"Lieutenant, what are you doing here?"

Donovan looked sour. "The Bakerstreet is making supply runs from DS9, and I have been deputized by Hudson to bring them directly to Doctor Moreau."

Moreau shot Lestrade a look. "Drebber has been allocating supplies based on his judgement for base needs." Which on the surface was Drebber's job, and by extension Lestrade's job to ensure that the supply chain flowed.

"Because it takes three weeks for a Pegasus Chimera to make that run," said Lestrade sharply. As his fleet replacement for poor Stangerson and the Al-Haytham, he'd gotten three skeleton crew Pegasus Chimera, and he was aware that they had the intestinal fortitude of a garbage scow and smacked of a rushed, under performing design run to put warp trails in space.

"Ha," was Donovan's very respectful reply. "Three days." She shot him a look. "Commander Holmes and Lieutenant Yao have been upgrading the ship."

Which fit the Bakerstreet reputation. Arrogant. Results. It certainly explained how the Bakerstreet had been able to out maneuver eight Dominion ships, sudden psychic powers notwithstanding. Nevertheless protocol was protocol. Holmes couldn't just make changes to his ship. For one thing, it was Starfleet's ship. "I'll need to speak with Commander Holmes."

"Can't. Commander faffed off with half the command staff to Andor to talk about knocking Andorians up."

An entire string of career destroying jokes about the difficulty of just that spun through Greg's head. Since there had been no request for leave, he had to ask, "Who in the command staff?"

Donovan looked even more sour. "Our chief engineering, Lieutenant Yao, ship's Doctor, all the Andorians, and the Botanist, because that's how it is on our ship." She looked him up and down. "Commodore."

Greg was if anything more alarmed. "Your ship doesn't have a doctor."

Donovan sighed. "We have a Julian."

"What is a Julian?"

Moreau answered. "He's an emergency medical hologram program. I've put in an order for one here, but have been denied. Don't you have one?"

The Stargazer was one hundred and thirty years old. Her replicators could produce anything provided what you wanted was one of eight options and none of them with Picard family wine. When they weren't breaking down. She didn't have a holodeck, much less a holographic doctor.

Greg ignored Moreau, and kept on the main point. "That still leaves the Bakerstreet with a staff supplement that can't leave sickbay."

Donovan snorted again. "We put holo emitters all over the ship when the hell woman came on board and fucked with everyone's heads. There may have been," she gave him a level look, "some other improvements to the Bakerstreet over the last few years."

In that moment, Greg felt very close to using commodore's privilege to poach the Bakerstreet chief engineer. Commander Anderson had been less than capable with the needs of a classic grand dame of a starship like the Stargazer. He really would like working replicators.

He'd had Commander Anderson look them over, which had been its own form of I could be retired in the French countryside joy. Eating duck sausage by the Ognon river with a bottle of Picard wine.

More than that, their latest ghost fleet ship, Tamburlaine might be a dreadnaught, but she was pocked with micro fissure damage from eighty years sitting exposed to the micro asteroids that gotten through the ghost fleet's storage force field and which Anderson claimed couldn't possibly be repaired.

Which was when he had a brilliant notion. "Great idea about the ancillary base. You're in charge of setting it up while the Bakerstreet is making supply runs."

Donovan looked at him in horror. "But sir, I'm only a lieutenant. I'm in charge of security not a base planner."

Greg gave the widest smile he'd had in him since the Borg put everyone's plans on hold. "I have confidence in your ingenuity."


	8. John POV

John wasn't exactly surprised to hear Holmes say, "Yao, we'll need to divert our course so we can run scans on Murasaki 312 on our way to our rendezvous with DS9."

They had diverted course to run scans on the way out. Sherlock had been like a kid in a solar candy store.

However, unlike that flight, the 221C immediately experienced turbulence as soon as they came near the quasar. Solar winds buffeted the 221C.

John said, "Everyone strap in." There were clicks just before the gravity systems lost power.

John had no idea of what was going on. Sherlock and Soo-lin's hands flew over controls. Ominous statements like, "Emergency power." And "Port engine down," came out of both of them as the shuttle rattled and shook its way to a landing on Taurus II, a solitary planet deep within the system.

Soo-lin began a full diagnostic run off her pad, and they emerged from the shuttlepod into the gray foggy landscape of their temporary home.

Almost as soon as they put feet in dirt, Sh'Alaack said, "Lieutenant Yao, Commander, I must take full responsibility for this failure. I am responsible for shuttle maintenance."

Soo-lin lifted her chin, and with a glance at Sherlock said, "We cannot come to conclusions without facts."

"Agreed," said Sherlock, and then had to ruin it a bit by adding, "It's a grave error in judgement to rush to conclusions."

"I'm sorry, sir" said Sh'Alaack, looking as if he'd kicked her.

Lucy said, "Isn't this equipment only two years old. Should there be this many issues? Things seem to always be," she looked around the grey landscape, "having a problem."

Shroleb asked what John felt was probably the bigger question, "Will we able to send a signal regarding our current location?"

Sh'Alaack shook her head in denial and said, "There's too much interference. It is standard Starfleet protocol to scan the quasar, and we did log our flight path when we left Andor."

Soo-lin said, "It's unlikely that anyone would be able to find us with any speed. There are four planetary systems near the quasar with dozens of possibilities." Which wasn't she just a bundle of joy. Then again, she'd been pretty touchy since the first day of the conference, which might have something to do with John spotting not one, but two of Sherlock's maybe parents hitting on her at the mixer on the only night of the conference that Sherlock hadn't been glued to John's side. He'd been about to go over and give her some backup, but she'd shouted, "Leave me alone," and stormed off, which appeared to have sorted things. But she'd been in a terrible mood ever since.

Hopefully, it would sort out because there was no telling how long they'd be on the planet. John took out his tricorder, and he and Sherlock took readings on their surroundings, while Soo-lin and Sh'Alaack examined the shuttle logs.

When they came out of the shuttle, their expressions were grim as a children's play about a dead dog.

Soo-lin said, "Something triggered a process that vented our fuel as we landed. There isn't enough to escape the planet's gravity unless we remove 226 kilograms from the shuttle. I can remove some systems, but we will only be able to get the weight down to 140 kilos at best."

Sherlock tilted his head, blinking through a few rooms of his memory palace, no doubt.

Yao continued, "We will need to leave at least one person behind so that the others may live."

Which bad mood or not, was not on.

Sh'Alaack squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She said, "I will stay behind. As an Andorian, I am the most suited to the cold environment, and I have survival training. Shroleb must be able to return to Andor."

"Bihr, no!" Shroleb looked about as horrified as John felt. 

"Yes, Shroleb," Sh'Alaack looked weirdly calm. "I escaped death as a child by mere chance. Perhaps this is fate bringing the universe into balance." There was a story there, but it was hardly time for John dig into the situation.

"It's not fate," said Shroleb fiercely. "Or if it is, we will chose by drawing lots." As soon as he said it, he looked like he'd bitten into a lemon.

Sh'Alaack gave him a crumpled smile, her face drained to the palest blue. Pink eyes wet with tears. "You mean like my family were chosen to die. Like I was chosen, and only foolish chance saved me. No, it should be a choice."

John couldn't take another moment of this. "I can't believe we're having this discussion. We're not leaving anyone behind. Sherlock, you're going to think of something." It was an order. A plea. A belief. Sherlock would think of something.

Into that terrible moment, there was a grinding noise that seemed to come from all around them in the grey landscape.

"I'm reading six lifeforms on the ridge," said Lucy examining her tricorder.

John could just make out several massive shapes on the ridge above them. A massive spear hurtled out of the mist to land some distance away. The grinding noise increased in volume.

Sherlock, the git, ran forward and plucked the spear out of the ground. He shouted, "The spear's design uses a Folsome point. Not very advanced. Very inefficient," and then he lobbed the spear back up the hill. It didn't have the advantage of gravity. It fell far short of their giants in the mist.

"They appear to be organized tribally." Soo-lin pointed at the tallest of the giants. "If we challenge the leader, they may retreat for the good of the group."

"Or because we are in their territory, their home, that will only make them more determined to protect their families," said Shroleb looking at Sh'Alaack, "Their loved ones."

Sh'Alaack turned her face slightly away.

Sherlock drew his phaser. Unfortunately, it was a type one, but it was all the shuttle armory had. "We'll demonstrate that we have more powerful weapons than they do. Logically, this will mean they will withdraw and leave us alone. Sh'Alaack and Yao, focus on repairing the engine and removing unnecessary items. Lucy get Shroleb a phaser, and guard the perimeter around the ship. John, with me."

"And when you're captured or killed, then what?" muttered Yao. "I will be held responsible."

John followed Sherlock up the ridge. John wasn't in bad shape, but Sherlock blended into the natural cover, never broke stride, and wasn't even out of breath by the time John reached a position where they could bracket the giants.

Who, John quickly discovered, even on tight beam, shook off a stun blast like it was nothing. He changed the setting to heat, and fired over the creatures' heads. For all of about ten seconds, until one headed towards Sherlock's rock. John set the bush next to it on fire. He kept his beam tight and fired at their legs and arms. Nothing that was going to kill anyone, but there would be a lot of cauterized burns.

They roared and headed his direction, but he applied enough heat that even with the damp environment, bushes flickered with flames. He ducked behind a rock when the creatures lobbed another spear his way, while Sherlock took shots at them from the other side. He wasn't as good a shot as John, but a broad beam phaser on heat still had to hurt.

After what felt like an hour, but he knew could only have been a few minutes, they retreated back over the ridge.

Sherlock moved across the hillside to join John. "That was excellent marksmen's ship. That show of force should keep them away while we," whatever he was going to say was cutoff, as a spear sailed over the ridge and impaled him through his left shoulder carrying him forward. John caught him with one arm and set fire to the ridge top, hoping that the blaze wouldn't come back in his direction.


	9. Sally Donovan POV

Sally should never have left the ship. This was all Hudson's fault, but Hudson laughed at her, and said, "The ship is full of science techs with nothing to do while we do milk runs. Recruit some help from there."

Sally talked to Cho, who thought her board gaming club might be able to help. Who recruited the knitting club. Who pulled in the Augment Society. Who recruited the archeology club. Who brought in that jam band that occasionally played in the galley on Fridays.

Sally liberated the 221B off the Bakerstreet on her next run, and packed it with crew and hoped they didn't crash, because it was standing room only.

When they got there, Khatri looked at the replicator on-board the 221B doubtfully. "It's not an industrial grade. It can't make anything larger than a large platter."

Sun Liu chortled and pulled out a tiny solar panel. "We can make our very own Many Array Makes Energy. A MAME." She nodded gravely. "I shall name her Auntie Mame."

"But the sun sets," protested Bailey. 

"It's twice as much power as they've got now," said Sally grimly. Stoutly. Desperately. Wondering just what she'd done to deserve this.

"There's always wind power," said Khatri, who synced the replicator with her tricorder and pulled out a set of plans from the replicator. She smiled broadly. "My grandson builds them for his hobby."

What came next was chaos. Organized chaos. That Sally was somehow in charge of running.

As a sort of revenge, she did arrange for Khatri to document everything in long detailed reports that she had tight beamed to Lestrade. There was no guarantee that he'd read them, but if her instincts were correct, he was the type of officer who read reports and manuals.

If she had to suffer, so should he.

First step was to meet with a delegation in the camp of Auberj displaced that were camped outside the perimeter of Auberj base. The knitting club were soon knitting and cooing over the infants. Cho and the rest of her gaming group took over discussing what could and couldn't be built with the healthier Auberj.

She did have to say this about the Auberj, living in a culture under a death sentence, nothing less than extinction phased them, and their humor was the way she liked it. Black as a black leopard dipped in tar and dropped down a well at the bottom of the Black Sea.

Khatri even thought to show them how to record details about their symptoms in a server that she set up to sync with a system in the Aubjerg base DMZ. The firewall networked one, not the one created by force fields. At least Doctor Bashir on DS9 would have some information.

As it happened, he showed up on the Bakerstreet's third run to see how the Auberjian's were doing and added some improvements to the whole thing.

At the end of two weeks, there was a grid of temporary shelters around three centralized buildings. One for cooking and their own set of replicators running off solar and wind power, and this strange contraption that Sun Liu had built.

A building to process sanitary waste, because, "Yes, I do understand the concept, Lieutenant," said Lestrade when she insisted on reporting to him at length when he stopped by.

A hospice for the dying run by Auberj medics, who knew a lot more about their own bodies than the Starfleet crew. Dignity in death for a disease that could lurk in an apparently healthy body for years before suddenly cutting that person down.

At three weeks, Sally produced every report on actual paper beamed onto the Stargazer to thunk it on Lestrade's desk with a, "You may get a complaint from Drebber. I locked him and his crew out of the Auberj replicators. They kept going off base to get snacks. Because the fucking morons on base don't know how to setup their own Auntie MAME."

Lestrade sighed. "Not everyone knows how to build an Auntie MAME," which said mission accomplished, he'd been reading her reports, and dismissed her.


	10. Sherlock POV

"You have to remove the spear," said Sherlock.

John, who looked like an avenging angel, a glorious demi-god of war, his golden hair a halo in the sunlight, which was when Sherlock reflected might mean he was in shock. He normally constrained such thoughts. Nor did he speak them aloud.

John said, "I can't pull it out Sherlock. You'll start bleeding from the entry wound the moment I do. You'll bleed out in seconds. I need to get you down to the ship. Hope no one borrowed the auto suture from the shuttle med kit."

Sherlock gritted his teeth, as he could feel his body attempting to heal around the foreign object. "You have to pull it out. Now!" He looked up at John. Beautiful, wonderful, killer-healer John. "Trust me!"

John glanced back up at the ridge which was glowing with red flames through the black smoke and mist. He laid down a round of suppression fire at the hill top, and put his phaser down on the grey dirt. "You are not allowed to die." He pulled out the spear.

Sherlock hissed in pain. Both at the removal of the spear and of his body doing what it had been designed to do. The wound was too great to heal quickly. There was too much damage, but from John's widening eyes, he could tell there was visible progress. Sherlock used the spear to help himself stand. "I said trust me."

"That's not possible," said John.

"It manifestly is, because you can see it happening." Sherlock looked back up at the ridge. "That will not hold them off long. We need to get back to the shuttle."

"Yeah," agreed John. John helped him hobble down to the shuttle. Keeping an eye behind them.

By the time, they reached the shuttle, the fire on the ridge top had died down, and the creatures were back, having at least enough intelligence to have determined the range of their weapons. They began rolling boulders downhill. Not an effective weapon, but not one without dangers. Sherlock didn't like the idea of attempting to heal from being crushed. That would likely be beyond even his body's capabilities. Sherlock grumbled, "It makes no sense that they would keep attacking us. We have superior weapons."

"Yeah, well, they're arseholes bastards," said John.

At least, the shuttle was on a slight rise that sent the rocks hurtling by the shuttle.    

They arrived at the shuttle where there was a growing pile of items, which Lucy was placing as a baffle to stray boulders.

Lucy heaved down a mattress from the bunk at the back of the shuttlepod and looked at Sherlock's shoulder. "What happened to his uniform?" Sherlock looked down. With the dust, the pink of his healing wound was barely visible.

"Nothing important," said John. "How is it going?"

"Not good," said Yao, emerging from the shuttle. "While we were repairing the ship, there was another malfunction. The fuel vented again. We have barely enough energy to run basic systems and that's it. We don't need to worry about who we'll need to leave behind. None of us are going anywhere."

"There are always alternatives," said Sherlock, "But you will only think of them if you keep thinking."

John held up his phaser and said ruefully, "At least we can heat some rocks to stay warm and cook with this." Another boulder thudded against the mattress and rolled down hill.

"John, that's it!" Sherlock so forgot himself as to kiss John. But it was the merest briefest kiss. No more than a press of the lips. He forced himself to let go and hoped no one read anything into the gesture. "We can use the phasers to power the ship."

"But the phasers are our only weapons," said Lucy. She looked up at the swirling mist. "I'd like to have a weapon right now." She fired into the fog, using her tricorder for triangulation. There was a scream from the clouds.

"That could work," said Yao, slowly, "but it won't be enough to get us back to a Starbase. But we still will need to leave someone on the planet."

"We are not leaving anyone," said John. "I don't care what's logical. We're all going, or none of us."

"Then it may very well be none of us," bit out Yao.

"I can't believe that I'm hearing that from a Starfleet officer," said John.

"Could we focus on the killer giants and fixing the ship please," said Lucy, firing another round into the mist. There was no corresponding yelp this time, but there was a flush of flames as something in the landscape caught fire.

"If it's enough to get us to where we can send a distress signal, it will be sufficient," said Sherlock.

"I have a stupid idea," said John looking thoughtful.

"Most ideas are," said Sherlock. He paused, "What is it?"

"Is the replicator still onboard?"

"I was going to remove it next," said Sh'Alaack.

"Don't," said John, who grinned. "Drain the pads and tricorders to power it up so I can replicate something." Within a few minutes, and after some consultation with Lucy about the nature of the local plant life, John had a sack full of ripe fruit. He said, "No way of knowing if they eat meat." He looked at Sherlock. "Up for another run."

Sherlock rotated his healed shoulder by way of answer. They returned to John's position from earlier, dodging boulders the entire way. Sherlock as the stronger of the two of them, swung the sack like a sling, letting go as it reached its farthest arc out.  

The sack sailed through the grey air to land with a thud somewhere near the giants, who growled and grunted while examining it. Sherlock was just able to discern one sniffing the fruit. The crunch of a bite. A squabble over the bag.

The boulders stopped rolling down the hill. "Confusion to the enemy," said John. "Let‘s hope that buys us some time."

It bought them an hour before the boulders resumed. The replicator was the last thing to be removed. Although, they couldn't afford to waste any more energy on fruit bribes.

"It's enough to allow us to leave orbit," said Sherlock as the last phaser was attached to be drained.

"We need to shed fifty more kilos," said Yao, who could afford to be immune to the better demons of their nature and John's glare. Although, having worked with Sh'Alaack for some months, he would have thought she might want to preserve her life, or at least prevent her from unnecessary self-sacrifice.

On cue, Sh'Alaack said, "I will remain."

"If you remain, then I will remain as well," said Shroleb.

The sounds of the creatures grew closer.  Something large shoved the side of the shuttle, which rocked.

"We need fifteen more minutes," said Yao.

_"The best defense is attack," came the advice from his memory palace. Which had him sourly telling his first father's portrait that there was little left to attack with._

_"There are always alternatives," said his first father._

_"Think Sherlock," said Mycroft from his painting. "The phaser power isn't gone. Simply reallocated."_

Sherlock made a quick adjustment, sending an electrical charge across the skin of the ship. The rocking stopped.

"We lost too much power," said Yao. "Eighty kilos."

Sherlock answered her by unfolding his chair. Removing all the chairs. There would be no restraints if they crashed. No support if there was turbulence, but it was enough weight. He tossed them into the face of a giant, and slammed the door shut. The shuttlepod began to rock more violently than before.

"Go, now." They held on to the sides of the shuttle, but the force holding the shuttle down was too much. Sherlock tapped the control for the boosters. The shuttle shot up. Presumably dooming whatever creatures so foolish as to hold on.

They entered orbit. Yao tapped the controls. "We have enough power for one rotation, maybe two, but not enough to leave the system or re-enter the atmosphere."

Sherlock looked back at John and thought, "There are always options," and expelled a fuel core, igniting it on an arc that would head out of the influence of the quasar. As the shuttle decayed, Sherlock reached out to take John's hand, just as they were dematerialized.


	11. John POV

John blinked and he was in a curved chamber. It wasn't a Federation vessel. Mycroft was standing there, three Breen behind him, looking like a supercilious prick.

Who had just saved their lives.

"Sod off, Mycroft," said Sherlock.

John held up a hand. "He's a prick, but he saved our lives. He gets a pass."

"Thank you," said Mycroft in a tone try enough to make salt feel moist.

At which point, the day did a pass at catching up with them. Shroleb huddled with Sh'Alaack. Lucy leaned against the hard shell wall, and Yao crossed her arms and sat down on the floor. John went for a more respectable slump against the wall. While Sherlock, well, he gave his brother hell for getting his clients, still the Breen it would seem, to follow the shuttle just in case. 

All told, it was more than a bit creepy, but John was happy not to have burned up in the atmosphere. He called that a wash.


	12. Sherlock POV

Once Sherlock eliminated the irrelevant, certain truths remained.

Whatever his parents wanted, they weren't trying to kill him.

Nor Mycroft. The prick.

There was simply no explanation for the series of catastrophes on the 221C. He'd retained a data chip from a pad before they'd drained it. There was no algorithm that could have resulted in the first fuel vent. Certainly none that could have caused the second.

Sherlock considered Lucy's remark about accidents. He informed Mummy that someone was sabotaging his command and after successfully arguing that perhaps dealing with a threat was better than avoidance, for the first time in his life he asked for advice from his first father.

He circled second father warily. She said, "You're better off in the palace."

He said, "I bet you said that to Euros too," and watched her flinch.

Her, "You don't know what you're talking about, boy. Her entire crèche was too dangerous," was evocative. He stored it for later.

Too soon, not soon enough, they arrived at DS9. In time to rendezvous with the Bakersteet.

He pulled up Hudson's research on Moriarty and correlated it with the rate of incidents since Moriarty had departed. The malfunctions had not diminished. The number had increased in randomness.

If the incidents had continued despite Moriarty's absence, the inference was clear. Moriarty was still present.

It would be too much to hope that he'd been trapped on the planet of the giants.

He called up the research on Constable Odo's cellular structure. But the unique quality of Odo's metamorphic nature was such that he could mimic the structure of any lifeform or object. Moriarty could be a lamp. A chair. An individual at any one moment.

The only consistent feature would be the lack of a psionic signature. Admittedly, not useful in determining if an asphida was Moriarty, but more than useful when interacting with a sentient lifeform.

Which led to reviewing the records of when Hudson, Hunter, and John became extraordinarily psychic. If Sherlock could create a device that could identify null psionic energy in sentient beings that could lead to a method to identify when Changelings infiltrated crew.

At least, it would be a start.

Sherlock was not ready to lose the Bakerstreet. Certainly not ready to lose any of the people in it.

**Author's Note:**

> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/The_Galileo_Seven_(episode)  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quasar  
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Phaser  
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Phaser_type-1
> 
> Congratulations, you're about 44% of the way through the overall story with 18 stories left to go.


End file.
